I've Forgot to Tell You

   “You're a weirdo,” that was what they used to call me back when we were in Shandong, China. Ever since, my little secret became everything I’d desperately want to hide from the world. Not that I was a shy, insecure kiddo, but it was because of my toes. 

   Peering at my feet, I cringed in embarrassed. It wasn’t unusual for me to have that feeling deep down, yet I tried, always, to conceal it in front of others. Who could ever understand that having four toes instead of the normal five was completely normal! At least I had been confident showing them off before all of that happened. Luckily, I still loved them in secret. 

   Without a second thought, I buried my feet into my sneakers, brand new with a shiny covering, and pondered the idea of going through another bad day at the high school.

   I was known as the “Nerdy Wits” because technically I was a nerd. Not that bad a name, though. It was the only thing I was proud to be. Everyone liked me at that school, or that was what I thought they did, and I could say I was popular. Did having two friends make it enough for someone to be called popular? Even though, I considered myself as so. Back in the day “popular” wasn’t even in my dictionary.

   “Morning, Steve,” my friend Aaron waved at me as I reached the school’s gate. He was a redhead like me, but with strikingly curling hair that looked more like a fad hairdo. He didn’t know about my secret which made it fifty-percent friendship zone. Always leaving my space free for my privacy. 

   However, he told me much of his dirty secrets. Like about the pimple in his butt and his first worst sex experience with my current girlfriend (gross!) and his parents making out in the kitchen floor. That boy was an open box of secrets. What else he didn’t tell me?

   Before I could take a proper breath, he hugged me so tight taking my breath with him as if I hadn't seen me for ages (it was just yesterday, though). Elbowing me to stand by the gate, he whispered in my ears two words—one I had considered a curse for as long as I could remember and the other was indefinite. As if once he said he “fucked her,” I would go like, “cool bro!” No. That girl must be the dumbest girl on earth. Who could ever hook up with this guy? Instead I said while we were walking to the classroom, “who’s she?” To my surprise he didn’t answer immediately, and I knew it must be another secret of his.

   “Just an old pussy out there,” he said at last with a flat tone. Whomever she was, Aaron never lied to me, and I just believed him on that one, too, making his list of secrets even longer. Rumors didn't have a place in my ears. However, this one got in so easily—the girl was my current girlfriend.

***

   How could he go telling unusual things about himself without giving them much importance? Perhaps my four-toe secret wasn’t a big deal for him either. How could he go with the flow so easily? Never feels less of himself or even ashamed. It might be one of those hidden powers not all people were gifted with. I was one of the unlucky ones.

   Taking my place in the front seat I was half daydreaming about my weirdest features—my toes—as the teacher shook me from my reveries. “Knock, knock, knock, Are you here Steve? “she was almost shouting, and of course my lovely classmates took the chance to laugh. What was so awkward about it? As if they had never had a daydream themselves.

   Back to reality I adjusted my seat, humming strangely for the teacher to understand I was okay. It wasn’t a thing they were used to see me doing, yet I was confident I could handle it this time. No more blaming.

   I sat still observing the teacher as she was explaining the lesson, and for a second, I thought she was speaking Chinese. Those were memories of the past cascaded in my head as if a waterfall was nearby. I was unfocused. My brains were all over the space, and I was caught again swimming in my fantasies. This time I got punished for not paying attention as well as getting a mean comment from everyone in the classroom.

   Expected. That was definitely another bad day at school.

   Aaron invited me for a party he organized that night, and I refused. I had never understood this ritual of partying every Thursday night. Guys at my school seemed to enjoy the deafening music. However, I’d enjoy Lara’s company.

   She was technical my girlfriend, yet I wasn’t sure whether she considered me her boyfriend or not. I had never asked her, though. Knowing that she betrayed me with my best friend, my sensitive self couldn't go and not forgiving her for what she did.

   It was a Thursday night, which means a studying night for me. Lara liked that, and she never hesitated to come over to my place and get her brains working. Since then I made her my girlfriend. At least she was for me.

   “Do you hang out with Aaron?” she looked baffled once I dropped that question all of a sudden. I wasn’t expecting an answer, though, but she said a simple “yes” as if it was everything I would want hear about. A “yes” meant a breakup, and after that night we were no more studying together. No more of Thursday Studying Nights.

   Feeling like I was betrayed, I called Aaron later that night, and asked him if the party was still up. “Sure man! Come! have some fun,” he said these words and a filthy regret creeped upon my skin. There was no going back. After all, I had been to his parties once, and it wasn’t an excellent decision. Neither was it this time. Perhaps I wanted to feel wasted after my breakup.

   How could she not consider me as her boyfriend? I complained to Aaron, but he was as surprised as I was. He might think we were just friends. How he could do that to me? He hooked up with her and didn’t feel a bit of that shame I was feeling. People were strange. I had a hard time in my life understanding their complicated attitudes. They could go like lying to you and then afterwards saying they “love you”. It was the hypocrisy I got duped into.

   Maybe it was just me because literally no one talked about it. Everyone seemed to take so easily. So why should I bother? Yet I did always bother to brood about it.

   I didn’t drink any of these illegal beverages. For real, people didn’t care about their brains. I cared a lot in its literal sense. My wits were the only perfect feature I had, and I didn't want to mess with it in a whim. My toes were counted, though. They were perfect, just other people couldn’t see that, I thought to myself. 

   Sitting a little isolation, I noticed the craziness that was upholding everyone. They jumped for the music, butted each other as if nothing really mattered. How could Sophie be ignorant of the cheating of her boyfriend? It felt like a dreamy kind of a relationship when they were dancing on that slow-motion song. “Dang it!” I said to myself with a whisper. Nothing was real, as if a game of stupid tricks was been on broadcast.

   How could people pretend to be okay while most of their struggles were kept inside? That question might imply that I was in the same struggle. I had hidden my little dirty secret for almost six years, and I had no regrets for that. However, I was forced to do so.

***

   Six years earlier I was known as the “frog-toes boy” back when we were living in China. My family business started to grow, and it was a big opportunity to prosper. Thinking of nothing but money, my family inscribed me to a nearby primary school, and I spent four years being the black sheep in the herd.

   I was an Asian American. My mom taught me to love myself even if I was born a little different. She made sure I knew everything about the American culture and their traditions, yet all of my bad childhood memories began as I had started attended that school.

   My mom was a great woman, but I didn’t take much of her American features except for the nose. My dad was an Asian redhead, and particularly I looked like him. Yet my toes were nothing like anyone else.

   Asking my mom from where I had my feet, she simply answered that they were created beautifully, and I didn’t ask about it ever since. It was, however, only when I got bullied. They made fun of me as I was wearing sandals. If I knew they would laugh at me back then when I was young, I would never want to wear sandals. I hid my feet away from the world, yet the curse was still ensuing me. 

   After we moved to the United States, I assumed that if I buried my secret, no one would consider me queer. I embraced my deformity and chose to live without people’s notice. 

   Walking back home, I felt as though I got drunk from the fake people I saw. Perhaps from myself to. Years passed by and the thought of pretending to be okay seemed to be not working. I was loaded with shame and fear. What if they knew about how weird my feet were? My middle toe on the right foot was missing, and the fifth toe on the left one was never there. 

   Why would people judge you by looking at your defects? Feeling ashamed of myself brought me an excruciating pain all over my body. Even if I was okay not giving my strange feet much attention, now I had to say, “It’s enough!”

   The following day I went to the nearest shoe shop to buy nice sandals. Not because I wanted to show off my toe, but rather I wanted to be free—free from people and their possessing opinions.

   “I’ve forgot to tell you,” I said as I met Aaron at the school. He looked startled, but more startled as I said, “Do you know I’ve four toes instead of five?” With curious eyes, he looked down at my new sandals, and I felt suddenly triumphant. It wasn’t much to say. I left the scene, giggling to myself about it. Now I’d tell everyone and never be ashamed about again.